I’m not exactly sure where to start today. I’ve been thinking and pondering this blog post for a few weeks because I feel like I NEED to address the fact that I haven’t written in four weeks, but here we are, and I am still at a loss for words. In fact, you should know that this isn’t polished or as well-written as I would typically release. It’s raw and it’s a long read and there’s a lot of emotion (for me as I write). 

Four weeks ago, on June 29, we had to do the hardest thing that I have ever had to do. It was something that we knew we needed to do for quite some time, but we just hoped our circumstances would change. 

Five years ago, this October we walked out of the church we were attending, where my husband was working, and found a tote of a litter of puppies that someone had dropped off at our pastor’s car. They were so tiny and fluffy and cute. We picked one up and fell in love instantly. He was the sweetest and most intelligent puppy, who could understand nearly everything we commanded. He knew to go to the door and cry to go potty very quickly, he could give high-fives, turn the lights on and off (and sometimes without a command to do so), he could lay his head down when asked to, as well as all other basic commands. One of our most favorite commands was to, “be friends,” which would cause him to give his paw to us, to “shake.” 

He was a people pleaser, for the right treat! 

He had bright blue eyes when we found him and regardless of how many people told us his eyes would not stay blue, they stayed blue. We called him Blue, but most people may not know that Blue was short for Baloo. The way I said “blue,” as a child was “bah-loo, gah-lue.” 

Although he was incredibly smart, we quickly noticed he had some anxiety that eventually grew into a form of highly dangerous aggression. We tried everything we could financially: obedience classes, calming treats, weighted blankets (specifically for dogs with anxiety), thunder shirts, walking, and all the love and affection we literally had in us. He was the best guard dog I could have ever asked for; he was very protective of both my husband and me. He really was man’s (or woman’s) best friend. 

Blue hated men. Any time he heard a male voice (other than my husband), it was like a bomb went off. This is partially what made him such a good guard dog. He hated loud noises or quick moves. There wasn’t a whole lot of dancing in our house, and that wasn’t just because neither of us could dance! We didn’t have a lot of parties, or gatherings because all the extra activity made him very anxious and his anxiety made him very unpredictable. 

At the talk of having children of our own one day, we knew we would ultimately be forced to make a hard decision because of Blue’s unpredictability. We knew he couldn’t be around a crying baby, or a crawling/walking toddler. It wasn’t a maybe for us, it was a definite. We knew we would be forced to either surrender him or put him to sleep. 

Sunday night, four weeks ago, Ryan and I sat on the back deck as we talked through a blog post that I had been working on and just wasn’t too confident with. We had given Blue a treat-filled kong (his favorite activity) to occupy him and help him on the deck since our neighbor’s dog was out in their yard (his least favorite activity). As Ryan and I sat and talked, we became distracted and didn’t notice that Blue had become agitated, (or I hadn’t at least). It was in a quick moment that Blue latched on to my husband’s finger and quickly pulled Ryan out of his chair in an attempt to get him to release his hand. 

Blue knew immediately that he had done something wrong, which he has recognized every other time. But this time was different. He couldn’t calm himself down and the next thing that happened was unlike anything I’ve ever seen with him. I became his next agitator when we tried to go to his crate so that Ryan could clean up his hand and we could assess the damage. 

I was so angry that I had given him that treat ball, and that I had distracted Ryan. I had created the perfect storm for a bad day for Blue and Ryan. It became my fault very quickly. I will always take ownership of my dog’s poor behavior because he lived with me. I raised him from a very young puppy. 

The days that followed this unfortunate situation became the hardest days for me to walk. The very next day we said goodbye to our pup, the literal best friend both Ryan and I have ever had. He was our baby, who was so needy and required so much attention. I felt an immense amount of guilt and responsibility that he could no longer continue to live. The guilt I lived with was the greatest form of guilt I have ever experienced. 

I didn’t know if I would ever heal, or how I would ever heal from the loss of Blue. The hole in my heart hurt so incredibly bad. Everything reminded me of him. And everything reminded me of the guilt that I felt for deciding to put him down. Everyone wanted to know what happened and I couldn’t answer anyone. I didn’t have the energy to talk about all that I felt or to talk about how my heart felt like it was completely broken into a million pieces. I made a joke to my husband, but it’s the truth: I hadn’t ever cried over a boy the way that I had cried over Blue. 

He wasn’t just our pup, he was a member of our family. He relied on us and we relied on him. He cared for us and we cared for him. He had walked with me through some of the hardest days of my life and on days when I didn’t have a reason to get up out of bed, he was that reason. I had to take care of Blue. He needed to go out and he needed food and he needed companionship. So, without him, I wasn’t sure who I would take care of anymore. Without him, who would need me? Without him, why would I get out of bed? Without him, what would I do? 

I know that this blog may not be relatable to very many people and that’s ok. But, I want to offer some advice to anyone who may ever find themselves in a situation where you have to make a decision that you know is the right one but it’s a decision that you hate making because of how you’ll feel coming out of it, or maybe because of who it may affect.

1. Trust. Trust that God has given you the ability to discern what is up and down; what is right and wrong; what is safe and what is dangerous; what is good and what is bad for you. When you can trust God with all of these things, it will take your eyes off of the circumstance that you’re facing and remind you of what’s beyond your pain in the moment. 
2. Grieve. Sometimes, people will try to tell you how to grieve or what to grieve. If you need to grieve, then grieve. Take as much time as you need to grieve and then grieve some more. And when you feel like you can’t cry anymore, close your eyes and sleep. 
3. Heal. Healing looks different for everyone, especially based on the ache, or loss. But one thing is certain. True healing only comes through Jesus. I’m reminded of what the Psalmist says when I think about healing. 

“I lift up my eyes to the mountains—where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.”

Psalm 121:1-2 NIV

When you are facing something that seems too big for you, I want to remind you to look up. Turn your eyes up to Jesus and expect Him to help you. That is where your help (and healing) will come from. I’ve heard it said that time heals all wounds, but I think that’s a big, ugly lie. Time numbs the pain. Through time, the pain diminishes a bit but make no mistake, Jesus heals all wounds. 

“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”

Psalm 147:3 NIV

If you’re in a place of pain, fear, uncertainty, or loss, I want you to know that I’m praying for you today. 

I am praying that you feel the presence of Jesus as He wraps His arms around you. You don’t have to justify your pain to anyone. Just grieve and let Jesus offer healing to you as you trust Him. I’m praying that you can find hope for today.